


Cold Hands and 4 a.m.

by Thistlerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2005.  James's hands are dirty, and Remus can't help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands and 4 a.m.

It was cold in James's flat. Remus rubbed his gloved hands and stamped his booted feet on the linoleum, trying to force some feeling back into them. 

Behind him, James grunted, "I think my feet've become blocks of ice. What the bloody hell time is it, anyway? Want tea?"

"At least four a.m., I should think," said Remus. "The clubs were closing when we left the park. And yes. Tea would be good."

"Good." James pushed past Remus to the sink. "Don't think I've got any clean cups."

"It doesn't matter." Remus stripped off his gloves and began to unwind his scarf. It was wet and flecked with mud. "So long as no one spat in it."

James took a cup out of the sink and examined it. "There's a questionable brown spot, but I reckon it's coffee. I'll use this one. 'Cause I'm such a good mate."

Remus turned to drape his scarf over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and found something already there. "Better be quiet," he cautioned, fingering the cornflower-blue cashmere. It seemed flimsy as spidersilk to his touch. "Lily's here. She must be asleep."

There was a clatter.

Remus turned to see James hunched over the sink. Even with his coat still on, Remus could see the stiff line of his shoulders. 

"Why is she here?" muttered James. "What the fuck is she doing here?"

"You gave her your key," said Remus calmly, letting Lily's scarf slide from his finger. "You—"

"I know. Fucking hell, I know. But what's she doing here _now?_ "

"Considering it's four in—"

James cut him off with an abrupt gesture. "I can't look at her. I can't touch her." He kept his voice low, but it was harsh as stones grating together. "I need time. To think."

"Do your thinking with her." Remus unbuttoned his jacket. "Out of the way. I'll make the tea."

"You don't understand," said James.

"I do. Move out of the way. I think your brain has frozen." He gave James a gentle shove but instead of moving, James seized his wrist and wrenched it painfully. "Oi!"

"I can't touch her," James insisted hoarsely. Behind his glasses, his hazel eyes were oddly intense. "Not with these hands, I can't."

"So _wash_ them." Remus sucked air into his lungs and said – because he thought it was something Sirius might have said – "Don't be such a bloody drama queen."

It was strange watching color rush back into James's face, as if thoughts were exploding behind his skin. His grip on Remus's arm tightened. "It doesn't _bother_ you."

It was more than a statement. It was an accusation. Remus recoiled involuntarily. "Let go."

"You bloody monster," rasped James. "I killed a man and it doesn't fucking _bother—_ " He went on and Remus forced himself to listen patiently, told himself that James was tired and distraught, that it was natural to feel this way after what they'd done. He wondered if he ought to remind James that the man they'd killed – whom they'd fought and _James_ had finished off – had been a Death Eater and who would have killed both of them without a second thought if they'd given him the chance.

Remus bore the abuse in silence. He only wished that James could remember to keep his voice down; Lily was sleeping in the bedroom just down the corridor.

"You didn't use a Killing Curse," Remus said when James finally ran out of breath and invectives. "You didn't intend to kill him. You hit him with a Stunning spell, and he hit a tree. He broke his neck. It was – it was almost an _accident._ " His voice sounded brittle. Frosted over, perhaps. He wondered how it managed to work its way up his throat. He couldn't feel James's fingers around his wrist anymore.

"It wasn't an accident," James said.

"So what? We're fighting a war. It's not murder."

James flinched at the word and Remus was able at last to yank his wrist free.

"Two against one…in the dark…"

Remus grabbed James's hand and squeezed it. His hands were cold. Looking down he noted that the nails were broken and crusted with dirt, and that the knuckles were red and raw. 

"It's different…" Remus said quietly. _Poor hands,_ he thought. Not the kind one would wish to cup a woman's breast and stroke her out of sleep.

"Tell me how." A naked plea.

Remus shook his head. _Don't buckle._ "I…" He rubbed James's hand between his. He had to get some warmth into them, though his hands were as cold as James's.

"Can't," James finished for him. 

"I don't _know,_ " said Remus lamely. 

With his free hand, James removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Fuck."

"You said that already. Plenty of times."

"I know." Quiet, then.

James had nice hands. Callused from gripping a broomstick so often. Bony. Long-fingered. Artist's hands, maybe. Lily must love them, Remus reflected. James wasn't handsome, but Remus bet that his hands were universally admired. 

"I'm sorry." The words fell between them. Remus stopped rubbing.

"'Lo?" said a muzzy voice from the doorway.

Lily stood with her hair loose and disheveled, her green eyes clouded with sleep. She was wearing James's oversized Kenmare Kestrels sweatshirt, lavender panties, cotton socks, and nothing else. Her knees were rouged with cold.

Something about the sight of her struck Remus at the base of his skull. He released James and stepped away, realizing as he did that she was probably only half-aware of him. 

He didn't see James go to her, but they were gone when he lifted his head again. The teapot and two teacups (one with a questionable brown spot) rested on the counter by the sink. 

Remus buttoned his coat and retrieved his scarf from the back of the chair. The movement sent Lily's scarf sliding to the floor but he paid it no mind.

There was plenty of beer in his flat. With luck, he'd be drunk by the time the pain in his skull worked its way down to his chest. With a little more luck, tonight would be forgotten by morning.

10/21/05


End file.
